He scowled and remarked, "Well, if you don't think I'm good enough." He let the arrow fly petulantly. It hit the outer edge of the target, nowhere near the bull's eye.
Parks hit his just about in the centre, but Will's arrow was smack dab in the middle despite the fact that he was holding the bow in his right hand and snicking the arrow with his left because of his tightly-bunched shoulder. A second loosed arrow spilt the first directly in two.
"Go on, Will, three."
"Very well," he sighed, "but you can pay my sister for all the arrows you make me ruin doing party tricks."
He loosed a third, then a fourth. Finally he smiled down at Elizabeth. "Enough showing off for one day. Your turn, my lady."
"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly," she said, shaking her head in wonder at his incredible marksmanship.
He handed her the leather gloves and waited until she put them on, then rested one hand on her bowarm, the other on her right hand.
It was difficult, since he could not extend his left arm fully, but he did manage to get it away from his side.
And it was worth the pain. Being able to stand so near Elizabeth was like heaven on earth. He could smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her flesh, the shapely curve of her back as it pressed into…
"Like so, and like so. Very good. Now, aim, pull, release."
Elizabeth was nearly suffocated by his nearness, but she could sense his arm caused him pain by his rapid intake of breath as she followed his instructions. His steadying hand on the bow ensured that her shot would not fly too wildly.
"Ah, a bit short. We need to get the arrow back a bit more."
"Like this?" she asked, feeling his breath whispering in her hair, setting her atingle. Had it been him?
"That's right. Excellent. Aim, release."
His body trembled so badly it was a wonder that she didn't feel his massive erection, or that the arrow did not go sailing off into the distance.
But she held perfectly still, letting the strange sensation of his nearness wash over her, closing her eyes so that she did not even see her target as she let the arrow fly. Her second shot went into the outer edge of the bull, and he patted her on the shoulder. "Well done."
"Oh, another please," she asked, turning in his arms and giving him her most winning smile. Her lips were only inches from his own...
But at Marcus Fitzsimmons's approach he said, "I don't think you need me now. Not with so many others willing to teach you. I should go help the children with the ponies. I'll see you later."
He relinquished his shared grip on the bow and was gone, leaving her staring at him in surprise, not unmixed with longing.
Chapter Eleven
Elizabeth blinked and stared after Wilfred as he left her to tend to the children on their ponies. What had just happened between them?
One moment then had been so close, the next…
His face just before he left had been as expressionless as ever, though his eyes had darkened from their usual bright aquamarine to almost a marbled jade.
But no. It wasn't possible. The grim, severe Sir Wilfred Joyce the man in the cave, saying those lover-like things, being so able to know exactly what pleasured her? Possessing a mastery of touch which had thrilled her like nothing she had ever known before?
He had said he was not a ladies' man. Surely if it had been him in the cave he would have said something by now, tried to put himself forward, wanted to be with her more?
Only Marcus Fitzsimmons and Parks seemed to really be competing for her attention, though Monroe looked at her every so often in an inscrutable way.
In fact, it was now he who came up to her and said, "No, not like that, Lady Elizabeth. Mustn't drop your elbow."
"Monroe is a splendid shot too. Will taught him everything he knows."
"And you?" she asked Parks.
"Yes, he taught me too. Though I can never surpass him, much as it pains me to admit it." For once even he looked as bleak as his friend.
Elizabeth stared at the transformation, wondering why everyone around her seemed to be shifting like the sands upon the beach.
"Well, sir, there is more to life than archery, is there not?" she said in an effort to dispel his grim mood.
"Yes, indeed. Croquet we have already had the pleasure of sharing with you. Then there is hunting, fishing, shooting."
"I am afraid we do none of those things on any of our estates without the express purpose of eating what we kill, do we, Thomas."
"No, indeed we do not."
"No, of course not," Parks and Monroe agreed at once.
"What, no fox hunting?" Fitzsimmons said in shock.